Mail Call
by Sgt. Moffitt
Summary: A plea for help...but should Carter answer it? Written for the 2014 Short Story Speedwriting Challenge.


_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

_Written for the 2014 Short Story Speedwriting Challenge, and a postscript to the "Request Permission to Escape" episode._

_First line is from "Trials of Friendship", by marilynusca._

* * *

The door of Barracks Two opened slowly, very slowly.

Then an anxious blue eye peeped around the edge of the door. Observing that the occupants of Stalag 13's most notorious barracks were peacefully occupied for the moment, the owner of the eye edged his not inconsiderable bulk into the room.

Clutching a canvas sack to his chest, Sergeant Schultz gathered up his courage and squeaked: "Mail call!"

The ensuing pile-up would have done justice to an American football game, with the ball firmly on the ten-yard line and seconds to go in the fourth quarter. Colonel Robert Hogan watched the seething mass of humanity for a moment with a twinkle in his eye, and then he relented.

"Okay, okay, let him up, fellas. You won't get your mail any faster by smothering the poor guy."

Sergeant Andrew Carter emerged more or less unscathed from the bottom of the pile, with a creased envelope in hand. "Boy, that Mary Jane just won't give up! Second letter this month."

Corporal Louis LeBeau crawled out from under as well, with frowning eyes fixed on the six envelopes he held in one hand. "Suzette, Adèle, Françoise, Marie-Louise, Marie-Rose, Marie-Jeanne...what? No letter from Colette?" He looked up at Carter, aware that he had just missed something. "_Excuse-moi, _André. You were saying?"

By this time Schultz was revealed to be sitting on the floor, somewhat battered and helmet askew...the usual state of affairs after delivering the mail. Sergeant James Kinchloe gave him a hand and the portly German heaved himself to his feet.

After dusting himself off, Schultz turned to LeBeau. "Carter was boasting about getting another letter from that girl who dropped him like a hot potato pancake." He glanced at Carter and added, with a mournful shake of his head, "You should pay no attention to such a woman, Carter. She is toying with your emotions."

"Is that what's going on, Andrew?" Kinch demanded. "Schultz is right, you know. She already broke your heart once. No sense in letting her have another go at it."

"You guys got it all wrong," Carter protested. "She's not trying to get back together with me. It's something else."

Corporal Peter Newkirk looked up from his own correspondence. Apparently his current girl hadn't written a very pleasant letter, for his voice was tinged with cynicism and a bit of scorn as he announced: "It's _always_ something else with the birds, Andrew. What I say is, just ignore her."

Carter's normally pleasant and somewhat vacuous expression set with unusual resolve, and he said, "I can't do that, Peter. She needs my help."

A chorus of scoffing ensued, and Colonel Hogan felt impelled to intervene. "Pipe down, men! Carter, what do you mean? How on earth can you help her, half a world away?"

"Well, I'm not sure," Carter replied, with knitted brow. "Mary Jane's been getting a lot of grief from the folks back home, ever since she broke it off with me. That fella she was stepping out with—the air raid warden, you know—well, he up and enlisted and now she's all alone and nobody wants to be her friend any more."

"Serves 'er right!" Newkirk growled, and the others nodded.

"But that's not fair," Carter insisted. "If she didn't want to marry me, then she was right to say so. Better than stringing me along, wasn't it? Besides, I would never have met Mady if it wasn't for Mary Jane."

"So what does she want you to do?" asked Hogan quietly.

"She wants me to put in a good word for her with the folks back home," said Carter. "But gosh, I don't think that's gonna work. People will think that I'm nuts for taking up with her again, and they'll probably treat her even worse."

"Maybe she needs a new interest," suggested Kinch. "You know, like joining the local Red Cross or something like that."

"She's talking about moving to Michigan," said Carter. "She wants to start working at the big aircraft plant at Willow Run. But I'm not sure that's a good thing, for her to be alone in a strange city like that. Not feeling the way she does, anyway."

Sergeant Olsen spoke for the first time, and he gestured with empty hands, since there had been no mail for him today. "Seems to me that she could take her mind off her own problems by writing to some lonely serviceman."

"You mean send some poor bloke a Dear John letter, like she wrote to Carter here?" Newkirk didn't try to hide his sarcasm.

'Nah, nothing like that. Just ordinary, friendly-type letters," said Olsen. "Maybe she could get other girls to do that too, the girls she'll be working with at the aircraft plant."

"Yeah," piped up Goldman. "There's a few hundred POWs in this very camp who wouldn't mind hearing from a pretty young girl back in the States."

"Heck, she wouldn't even have to be pretty," said Garlotti.

"Or young," said Baker, and Addison nodded.

"I'd just like to hear about everyday stuff going on back home," Broughton said. He added wistfully, "But maybe they could send pictures too?"

Hogan nodded. "There you have it, Carter. Got a feeling that while she's helping to boost morale over here, Mary Jane will be too busy to feel sorry for herself back home. And maybe other folks will notice what she's doing, and word will get out that there are plenty of POWs who'd like to get letters from home."

"Sounds like a plan," Kinch agreed. "It'll be good for her, and good for us as well."

"And maybe folks will start treating her better too," said Carter. "I'll write back to her and suggest it." He noticed that Schultz was looking thoughtful and nudged him. "What do you think, big guy?"

"Well," Schultz said, heaving a sigh, "It is a ver-r-ry nice idea. But you have forgotten something: if your plan works, mail call will be the end of me!"


End file.
